


Loosen Up

by Angelcroc



Series: THT (Toon Henry Tidbits) [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Toon Henry AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 03:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11304861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelcroc/pseuds/Angelcroc
Summary: The trick to flying is to fall, and not hit the ground. The trick to surviving a safe to the head is to get hit, and not realize it's meant to kill you. Henry explores his options.





	Loosen Up

Henry wheezed heavily as he leaned against the door. Bendy did not seem to be getting tired of chasing him around, and he felt like he'd been running for days. Eventually, he'd found the closet they crammed old Christmas decorations in, and was hiding in there as he tried desperately to get his wind back. The room smelled like dust and mothballs. It smelled like ink, too, but everything in the studio smelled like ink, and he didn't even register it anymore. There was even a dusty stand of Bendy dressed like Santa he used to prop the door shut. After a few moments, when he was confident he wouldn't be interrupted just yet, he sank to the floor. His heart pounded in his chest in a more literal way than he was used to.

The issue was that he thought too much.

“Thinking logically” was a hard habit to break, and while he was a creative person, Henry had never thought of himself as particularly whimsical. He was a fairly calm, serious man, and that was working against him in a big way right now.

Henry had been caught in a sudden explosion about a week ago. He couldn't even remember what stupid gag it was a part of, just that he hadn't had time to think about it, and ended up shaking off the aftermath like soot. It hadn't even stained his clothes. Unfortunately for Henry, that seemed to give Bendy the impression that he could take whatever the little demon could throw at him. Henry was pretty sure that this was dangerously optimistic. He'd ended up stumbling into a pit trap later, and less than a second in the air was enough to remind him that falling hurt. He was pretty sure that his leg was still sprained.

Henry took a moment to consider this. He was safe as long as he didn't think too hard. What would keep him from thinking?

After a moment, he realized. The answer was so obvious he almost groaned out loud, but was stopped by an uneasy feeling settling over him. Even if it'd help him survive, he shouldn't.

He reached into his pocket. He'd reached into hammerspace before, accidentally, to grab a rope. In the moment, he didn't even have to think about it, and the object he was looking for had been a part of his ensemble for a long time. His pocket was practically another dimension anyway. It had three leaky pens, an unreasonably large ball of lint, an old toy soldier, some keys...

A flask.

He stared blankly at the flask for a few moments. He had broken the habit of reaching for his flask every time something went wrong, or he had an unpleasant thought, but it still came to his hand unconsciously as easily as it had before. He could even tell that it was full from the weight. The real thing, locked away in a box in his attic, was covered in etchings from his old war buddies. This one had scribbles; shorthand for “This has text, but it'd be too hard to animate, and it's not important.” It was probably for the best. Those etchings had been pretty obscene.

Everyone he knew from the military smoked like a chimney and drank whenever they had an excuse. He'd been no exception. It was easy to drink when times were tough, to numb whatever problem was troubling him. It was also easy to drink when times were good, as a celebration of whatever good thing was going on. He was meant to have quit, even if he cheated a few times. He'd eventually decided it was too much money, and his friends and family were getting worried.

The longer he stared at the flask, the more drinking it made sense. It'd help him survive, probably. He already knew all the gags, and how to react. If any scenario required a swig of whiskey or two, this HAD to be it... and cartoons didn't have kidneys anyway! A heart, sure, but kidneys? He was pretty sure he'd never drawn kidneys into any of his creations. He was pretty sure he'd never drawn a kidney in his life.

And he was tired. He was stressed. And he was a grown man, so he could drink whatever the @*(*$# he wanted.

He put the flask to his lips and drank.

 *

Bendy had been waiting outside this door for at LEAST five minutes at this point. Maybe ten. He had it all set up, the works, the whole kit and caboodle; There was a bear trap, tar, feathers, he'd even added a “KICK ME” sign for good measure. The trap was perfect. So why was Henry still in there? Didn't he know how this was meant to go?

Bendy didn't have patience. Didn't even know the meaning of the word patience. He and patience were two completely opposite factors, like black and white, summer and winter, THIS DOOR AND BEING OPEN. What was he doing in there? The machine was designed to be set off by the door opening even a tiny bit, and Henry didn't even try to get a glance. Honestly, if Bendy cared even a bit for the traitor, he'd have been worried.

Bendy was sick of waiting around. He walked up to the door, carefully as he could manage, and reached to open it. It wasn't even locked. He was missing something. He swerved around, to see if somehow Henry had gotten the drop on him, was about to prank him, but the only thing behind him was his beautiful, terrible machine, and wallpaper.

Bendy opened the door, and stared.

Henry was in there alright. He was in there, and surrounded by about twenty empty bottles of whiskey, and Bendy got to watch him polish off the twenty first bottle in less than a second. It was almost impressive, if it wasn't so infuriating.

“Hey! What gives?!” He shouted, snapping his fingers a few times. He was building his trap and Henry was in here drinking?! Henry even perked up when he saw him! As if he was glad to see him!

“Hey! It's Bendy!” Henry said, then laughed. “Boy, am I glad you were made before liquor was banned from cartoons.”  
  
“What?” Bendy stumbled a little as he tried to make his way in. He had tripped over an old stand of him dressed like Santa. Henry had scrawled a mustache on it and written “MORE LIKE SATAN” on its forehead in very shaky penmanship.

“Hey! Watch THIS!”  
  
Henry pulled another full bottle of whiskey out of his pocket, and waved it as if he'd just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. He seemed enormously proud of this. Bendy rubbed his temples. Bendy opened his mouth to speak, but got interrupted by a certain drunk idiot who had a lot to tell him.

“Yeah! I mean, what's with the mallets? This is way more useful. And fun. And free! That bit's important.” He hiccuped. Bubbles spiraled above his head.  
  
“Yeah, while you're in here living it up, I was out there setting up a prank! It's totally ruined now! Yeesh, it's like you aren't even trying!” Bendy threw up his hands, and Henry suddenly beamed at him, and stood up. He walked straight through the door.

“It's fine now! Watch!” Henry shouted to him.

Bendy watched as Henry's drunken stumbling just happened to foil the trap every step of the way. A few lucky stumbles meant he totally missed the tar and feathers. The bear trap snapped just a hair's breadth away from his leg as he trotted through the gauntlet. Every part of the Rube Goldberg machine went off, and precisely none of it even touched him. He tripped to the ground just in time to miss the tranquilizer darts, the pie to the face was missed by him turning to look at something behind him, and every finely-tuned trap fizzled out.

Except for the “KICK ME” sign, which slapped him on the back at the very end.

Bendy couldn't help it. He laughed. Henry laughed too, even if he wasn't really sure what was so funny.

“Okay.” Bendy said after a moment. “Alright. Sure. I'll save my revenge for later. It wouldn't even be fun, tormenting you like this. You're basically cheating. What's the matter with you?”  
  
“What?” Henry said, blinking. Bendy made a vague gesture at his general direction.

“...Y'know. This. We were kinda in the middle of something, and you just ran off? The vengeance for you abandoning me? All that?”

“Oh.” Henry said. He mulled it over for a few seconds.

“Okay, on one hand, you were definitely going to kill me there.” Bendy made a few indignant noises of protest.

“On the other hand, I was tired.”  
  
“On the OTHER other hand, it wasn't really a joke to me. It wasn't funny. On the OTHER other other hand--” Henry broke off into snickering as he realized he had about four hands. Bendy had gone quiet.

“It wasn't a joke to me, either.” Bendy said. Henry stopped laughing to look at him. Bendy was looking in his direction, but wasn't looking at him. His stare cut right through him.

“Sure, parts of this are funny, but it's not a joke. It's a story, sure, there's a hero, there's a villain, but it's not a joke. You left.”  
  
Bendy took a deep breath.  
  
“...And I'm leaving! Right now. I'll getcha next time.” Bendy walked off. Henry tried to follow him, but only got a few steps before he stumbled against a piece of the trap, and fell flat on his face. The force of it conked him out.

 


End file.
